


It's Not Too Late For Us

by Bedalk05



Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eskel needs a hug, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is Geralt’s Emotional Support Bard, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Lambert needs a hug, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Pack Cuddles, Pack Feels, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vesemir Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24219124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: “Geralt, our parents are currently curled on the rug makinggoo goo eyesat each other!” Jaskier exclaims hysterically.“Hmm,” Geralt says with a frown. He didn’t know Vesemir could make an expression other than stern, disappointed, or fondly exasperated.Geralt and Jaskier's parents meet. Their sons don't know how to feel about that. Good thing Lambert and Eskel help provide a distraction via skittish cuddles.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir, Vesemir/Original Female Character
Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742950
Comments: 165
Kudos: 1170
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I am so flattered and honoured by the reception this silly series has gotten. Thank you to everyone who has been leaving kudos and comments, I truly appreciate every one. And for those of you requesting some Vesemir/Marya action featuring their mortified sons, I hope this lives up to your expectations! Chapter 2 will be coming out later today.

“Hey songbird,” Lambert calls from the parapet he is lounging on. 

“Hmm?” Jaskier asks distantly from his place curled up in Geralt’s lap. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be expecting a guest, would you?” 

The odd question drags Jaskier out of his reverie. Pulling away from the heavenly fingers that had been playing with his hair, Jaskier rises as he frowns up at Lambert. “What do you mean?” With a leap and a roll, Lambert dismounts from his perch and lands in front of Jaskier. Jumping at the witcher’s sudden presence, Jaskier glares at him while clutching his heart. “You know how I feel about you doing that,” he lectures. 

Rolling his eyes Lambert snarks, “Bite me little wolf.” 

“You wish,” Jaskier mutters darkly. Unfolding from his slouch, Geralt stands to face the pair. He knows if he doesn’t intervene these two could continue snarking at each other until the Continent sinks into the seas. According to Jaskier, it’s how they show their affection. Well, that, and the unacknowledged cuddling they both partake in. Unacknowledged, because the one time Geralt made a comment about it Lambert spent a week finding every excuse to be a prick towards Jaskier and in punishment Geralt went two weeks without sex. It was torture. Afterwards, Jaskier had sat him down to firmly tell Geralt off and explain the delicate operation the shifter was engaging in to allow Lambert to lower his walls on his own time. Suitably chastised, Geralt hasn't brought it up since.

It’s Jaskier’s second winter at Kaer Morhen now and Lambert has only _just_ begun to defrost around the bard. It’s been fascinating to watch; like an abused cat learning to trust again. Hisses that devolve into silent shock when shown a gentle stroke instead of a slap; silent demands of affection and the subsequent surprise and tentative purring when he receives it. Geralt wonders if this is how he acted when he was still trying to figure out who this strange bard is and what he wanted. A pang of guilt twists in his chest when Geralt recalls his cruelty towards Jaskier. It's hard to believe that the shifter is his after spending so long trying to chase him away. In comparison to his own previous treatment of the shifter, Lambert is practically tame. Geralt watches the fond smirk play on Lambert’s lips as he continues to lightly banter with Jaskier. It's good to see the prickly witcher smile. 

“What guest are you talking about?” Geralt finally interrupts. Frowning, Lambert turns to him, clearly unhappy that his conversation was cut off. 

Nodding toward the gates Lambert explains, “There’s a grey wolf carrying a pack on its back somehow surviving the climb up the keep. Thought your bard might know what it’s about.” Geralt opens his mouth to chastise Lambert for making shit up but before he can get a word out Jaskier has shifted and is bolting through the gate. Shouting in surprise, Geralt chases after his idiot wolf. He better not get mauled by a wild animal or Geralt will _never_ forgive him. 

When Lambert and Geralt catch up to him, (and yes, Geralt was not happy when he had realised that Jaskier was faster than him when he put the effort in) Geralt’s heart stops. The two wolves are tumbling against each other, yips and growls exchanging between them. Geralt is frantically brainstorming how to safely intervene before Jaskier is hurt when the shifter looks up from the pile of limbs. With a nip on the other wolf’s ear Jaskier is surprisingly released from where the strange animal had him pinned. 

Bounding up to Geralt, Jaskier shifts back into his human form, utterly heedless of the fact that he is a) naked in front of Lambert and b) naked in the middle of _bloody winter._ Without a thought Geralt tears off his cloak to wrap around his idiot bard, glaring at Lambert’s appreciative whistle as the younger witcher gleefully takes in the sight. 

“What do you think you’re doing little wolf?” he hisses as Geralt presses the shifter to him, trying to calm his racing heart while covering Jaskier’s remaining dignity from a certain leering gaze. He’s seen Jaskier fight before but usually with humans and always when Geralt was prepared and armed. Geralt was terrified he was going to be a second too late and find his wolf staining the snow with his blood. Patting Jaskier down Geralt scents the air, slumping with relief when he finds no sign of injury. 

Finally, Jaskier pushes him away, huffing with fondness at Geralt’s growl. He’s not ready to let him go yet. “Geralt, this is Marya!” Jaskier exclaims, and Geralt knows that if the shifter was still in wolf form his tail would be wagging up a storm. Turning his gaze to the gray wolf crouched in the snow, Geralt takes in the pack slung over its back and the blue eyes that match Jaskier’s that were watching Geralt keenly. Marya-Jaskier’s birth mother. Geralt gulps; he has only met her once but she made quite the impression on him. Never saw her in this form though; her regality certainly carries over no matter how she shifts. 

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asks her with a frown. Marya lives on the coast; she shouldn’t be anywhere near Kaer Morhen. And he can’t help but be torn about seeing her. He still feels the occasional twitch of guilt over the fact that he’s keeping the truth of Jaskier’s relation to her a secret. Without a sound, the elder wolf stretches languidly before continuing her trek up the mountain. 

She can’t really think that they were just going to follow her without an explanation, right? A moment later Geralt’s cloak flutters to the ground and a russet colored wolf tackles Marya with a gleeful yip. As the two shifters roll around the snow Lambert comes up beside him. “So I’m guessing there’s a story here?” Lambert prompts. 

“Hmm.” 

“You know now that I’ve seen him in all his glory I’m starting to understand why you keep him around.” In a flash, Geralt tackles Lambert to the ground and the two men proceed to engage in their own, slightly more violent, wrestling match. 

*******

An hour later, two very damp and grumpy witchers tramp through the gates followed by two snow covered and cheerful wolves. Bloody wolves hogging all their warm fur to themselves. 

As they enter the gates Vesemir simply raises a brow from where he and Eskel are repairing a wall. “Do I want to know?” The older witcher takes Geralt’s low growl as he stalks towards warmth and a change of clothes as a no. Turning his attention to the wolves, he crosses his arms. “Mind if you introduce us to our latest guest bardling?” When Jaskier obediently shifts so he can speak, Vesemir winces and shields his eyes. “Gods above boy, put on some cover first. I don’t want my head bit off cause your wolf thinks I’m eyeing what’s his.” 

Vesemir hears a thud followed by several grunts but he happily keeps his face shielded until Jaskier gives him the okay. When he opens his eyes again, Vesemir chuckles. “Oho I take it back. Wearing Lambert’s clothes is worse than walking around with everything hanging free.” A faint blush peppers Jaskier’s cheeks while Lambert lays curled in the snow cradling his crotch. Vesemir isn’t going to ask. 

Crossing his arms with a pout Jaskier remarks archly, “Then Geralt will think twice next time he decides to abandon me!” The bard’s attempt at a dignified rebuttal is undermined by the oversized tunic dangling over his knees. As Eskel walks over to offer his cloak to the shivering bard, Vesemir keeps finding his gaze drawn to the mysterious gray wolf. The wolf is watching him with its head cocked, eyes inquisitive and sparking with intelligence. Vesemir has to fight the urge to shift uncomfortably under the weight of the stare. 

Clearing his throat Vesemir barks gruffly, “Let’s get you inside boy before you freeze your balls off. Then I expect an explanation.” And with a final glance at the newcomer, Vesemir stalks away. He needs to rethink tonight's menu if he has another mouth to feed. 

Ten minutes later everyone is packed in the dining hall. Geralt hasn’t stopped growling and glaring at Lambert since he returned and saw what Jaskier was wearing. Currently a very smug bard was sporting lovebites along his neck while lounging in the lap of an incredibly territorial witcher at the table. Vesemir snorts softly as he notes that Jaskier had magically swapped attire so now he is wearing Geralt’s clothing. Nonetheless, the White Wolf keeps rubbing his face into the bard’s neck, undoubtedly trying to erase Lambert's scent off of him. 

Vesemir’s scarred heart softens at the sight. He never thought there would come a day when any of his pups would find love, least of all Geralt. Ever since his mutations he had grown so serious and solemn, a state that worsened after the mess of Blaviken. Having the bard around lifted a weight off of the weary witcher, and he wasn’t the only one affected. Since the bard arrived last winter there has been a light spreading through this haunted keep. Eskel is less serious and Lambert less prickly, if only just. And even Vesemir isn’t unaffected by the shifter’s presence. He worries how this stranger will tilt the delicate balance they have struck. 

Casting away his dark thoughts, Vesemir takes in his dominion. Fortunately, Lambert finally gained some sense and is by the hearth, a safe enough distance away that Geralt can’t launch himself at him with too much ease. Wanting no part in his brothers’ feud, Eskel is seated closest to the door and reading a book, ready to slip out when Lambert and Geralt inevitably begin wrestling again. Meanwhile, Vesemir sits opposite Geralt and Jaskier, overseeing all his pups with vague amusement. 

When the hall doors are opened every head turns to see the newcomer. Vesemir chokes on a mouthful of Lambert’s moonshine as he takes in the shifter. A woman. And a beautiful one at that. Bloody hells. Critical blue eyes haloed by flowing chestnut locks pass over each of the witchers in turn and they all shift uneasily like pups caught gnawing on her shoes. Only Vesemir resists the urge to wiggle self-consciously under that gaze, but that could also be in part due to the fact that his mind hasn’t fully restarted yet given the vision before him. 

Laugh lines crease around her eyes despite her severe countenance and painted lips twitch as if fending off amusement. Something dark curls in Vesemir’s gut when he realizes that instead of a gown she sports brown breeches and a silk red tunic with a wicked looking knife strapped to her waist. Who is this woman? 

Hopping off of his perch as the woman reaches the table Jaskier turns eagerly to the room and spreads his arm wide. “Gentlemen witchers, I am proud to introduce to you Marya, my very own Vesemir. And by that I mean my surrogate mother,” he adds with a broad grin as he nuzzles the woman’s neck. That doesn’t make sense; their honeyed scents overlap too much not to already be related, but at Geralt’s furtive glance Vesemir wisely keeps his mouth shut. All will be revealed in due time, he is certain. For now he will have to live with his burning curiosity. 

Faculties returning to him, Vesemir rises. “Friends of Jaskier are friends of Kaer Morhen,” he proclaims. Striding over to Marya, Vesemir finds himself lifting her hand and bowing over it with a kiss. Bloody hell, what just came over him? Witchers bow to no man nor woman. Quickly rising, Vesemir clears his throat and forces himself to meet the dancing blue eyes of this newest member of the keep. He feels like a lad again, spotting the prettiest girl at Beltane. Snap out of it old man, you have a responsibility. Infusing his voice with the authority that has caused lesser men to cower Vesemir states, “But this was quite unexpected. I would appreciate an explanation of how you came to find us and why.” 

Nodding her head, Marya speaks and _gods_ her _voice._ Steady like a drum yet lilting like the song of a bird, it vibrates through Vesemir’s bones. “Thank you for your hospitality Master Vesemir; I am sorry to intrude,” she begins before casting an exasperated look down at the shifted wolf currently pawing at her leg. “Troublesome child,” she sighs, fondness coloring her chastising words.

At the pitiful whine she receives in return, Marya rolls her eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone boy,” she remarks before strolling over to the hearth where Lambert has been watching with a guarded gaze. “Scoot over pup,” she barks, and Vesemir can’t stop the surprised huff of laughter at Lambert’s cowed expression before he scrambles to obey. 

A moment later Marya is lounging and petting a puddle of wolf in her lap as if he doesn’t weigh over 200 pounds. “Tis true I raised this pup,” she starts, grabbing Jaskier by the scruff. Releasing a chuckle when Jaskier simply licks her face in response, she relaxes her grip before turning serious. “For years I have enjoyed solitary life by the coast. I kept my shifts discreet and thus my safety secure.” Despite his relaxed posture Jaskier’s ears are alert and Vesemir can tell he’s following every word. Lambert, seated in a far corner of the hearth’s rug, watches on as he idly flips a knife. That boy is always brimming with energy; can't sit still to save his life. Eskel for his part is leaning back in his seat with his hands clasped over his chest, book forgotten, while Geralt is leaning forward, clearly resisting the urge to fight Marya for a place by Jaskier. 

Marya’s strokes slow as her eyes grow shadowed. “One night I was careless and a Nilfgaardian patrolman spotted me.” Jaskier sits up quickly with a worried whine at this admission. Marya shushes him but allows Jaskier to seek out comfort, nosing her neck to breathe in her scent. Releasing a heavy sigh Marya shrugs. “Word spread and I was chased out of the village.” A bitter laugh chokes on her lips. “A village I have spent years mending bones, assisting births, and lending advice in. But none of that matters I suppose if you’re a monster.” Pain and anger lace her words and a heavy silence falls upon the room, each person undoubtedly recalling a similar experience as Marya’s. Pressing her head to Jaskier’s as the shifter releases a mournful whine Marya whispers, “I know you can hold your own my child-I taught you after all-but something in me needed to check on you. So I followed your scent and it led me here.” 

At her tale’s end only the crackle of the fire can be heard for several minutes. Part of Vesemir is wrapping his head around the strength of Marya's senses for her to track Jaskier over miles of snow-covered ground while the rest of him aches to assuage her pain. Why? Since when does he care about the emotions of others, let alone longed to help them? A small part of himself helpfully plays a highlight reel of all he has done for his pups and Cirilla over the years before he shoves it away with an impatient shake of the head. Not the same. They're family. Marya is no one to him. _But maybe you want her to be someone,_ a traitorous voice whispers in his mind. 

Releasing a frustrated growl, Vesemir turns his attention back to the hearth. A tension thrums through Marya that Vesemir recognizes in Jaskier every time he longs to shift. “Thank you for telling us your tale,” he finally says after a moment. “You are welcome here for as long as you need or want.” Nodding to the wolf currently trying to wrap himself around her Vesemir adds wryly, “As you can see, we are used to wolves here so if you wish to shift we will never stop you.” 

Vesemir’s stone heart lurches at the grateful look sent his way before a grey wolf sprawls where the woman previous sat. Vesemir watches on with something akin to fondness as the two shifters wrestle for a moment before settling in a pile, scenting and licking each other as they do. The passes are beginning to close. Maybe Vesemir should recommend Marya remains for the winter. For her safety of course. Right.


	2. Shelter From the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Marya is laughing at a dry remark Vesemir makes about the author of the book they are pouring over when the library doors slam open and three panicked witchers race through. “Jaskier’s gone!” Geralt reports in a strangled voice. Her laughter dries up like desert sand and Marya feels her blood run cold at the pronouncement._
> 
> Jaskier learns some shocking news and then does something dumb. Stupid wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, where did you come from? You weren't invited to this party! Whelp, this got out of hand. Don't worry, if you're familiar with my work you know that there's always sunshine, sometimes we just have to get through a storm first.

“So what was that about ‘surrogate’ mom?” Lambert belches through a mouthful of moonshine. The embers of the fire are sparking dimly as the witchers sprawl before the hearth. Jaskier and Vesemir left some time ago to show Marya her rooms, leaving the three remaining witchers behind. 

“They smell related,” Eskel observes with a frown, not removing his attention from the book propped against Lambert’s chest. 

This has become somewhat of a ritual since Jaskier has been around. Cuddling. Sounds like too soft a habit to partake in as witchers but as Jaskier says, “Fuck that. If you wanna cuddle, fucking cuddle. You’ll still be able to kick anyone’s arse who gives you shit.” So Lambert is currently pressed against Eskel’s chest with the elder witcher’s arms wrapped around him. Meanwhile, Geralt is lying in Lambert’s lap, purring as Lambert runs his fingers through the silver hair. 

As much as Lambert and Geralt fight, there is an unspoken rule during these moments. Any insults or blows exchanged during the day get wiped away and replaced with soft touches and caresses in the evening. They are too alike in some ways; both witchers struggle with using their words, stating their needs, expressing their emotions. So they always end up at each other’s throats, their communication inevitably fracturing. 

But the disheartening and frustrating thing is that they _do_ care for each other, they just get in their own way. So Jaskier has been helping them find alternate ways of communicating. It’s almost become a ritual. Each touch is an apology for any fresh wounds, physical or otherwise, induced that day. Each caress is a proclamation of their care for each other, even when all other actions may suggest otherwise. 

Geralt growls as he feels a firm tug of his hair. “So? What’s the deal with her?” Lambert prompts impatiently, bringing Geralt back to reality. At least Lambert had the discernment to wait until Jaskier was gone to ask. Thank the gods for small miracles. 

Grunting, Geralt explains. “She’s his real mother. His parents couldn’t conceive a child so his father slept with her. She knew Jaskier would become a shifter and would need training and protection so Marya convinced them to allow her to help raise Jaskier on the condition that she kept her relation to him a secret.” Geralt pauses to take a steady breath before he adds the next part. “He doesn’t know.” 

Geralt grunts at the surprised tug of his hair where Lambert had been playing with a strand. “Shit,” Lambert hisses. 

A rustle of movement tells Geralt that Eskel has closed his book. “He deserves to know,” Eskel states solemnly. Geralt doesn’t respond. What is he supposed to say? He fucking _knows_ that Jaskier should be told. But it’s not his place. When it’s clear that Geralt has nothing more to offer Lambert huffs, resuming his strokes through Geralt’s hair. With a sigh, Eskel reopens his book and silence falls upon the room again. 

In the hallway Jaskier sits against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees as he stares blankly in the distance. Vesemir and Marya had begun talking about some old tome Jaskier didn’t care about so he let them go explore the library together. He was excited to return to his witchers, knowing a cuddle pile was waiting for him when he heard soft voices and paused at the door. 

Burning to know what they would talk about when he’s not around, Jaskier pressed his ear to the door, only feeling a small flicker of guilt for eavesdropping. Now he wishes that he had just barged in like he usually does. Then he wouldn’t have had to experience his reality fracture. 

Yet as it cracks, his world rearranges and comes back together, making more sense than before. Marya is his real mother. Of course. The fact that they are both shifters, the instinctual need to press against her when she is near, her blue fucking eyes...Jaskier is an idiot. But why keep it a secret? Was she that ashamed of him? Mind reeling, Jaskier does the only thing he can think of. 

No one is around to notice when, a moment later, a wolf slips out of the keep and lopes into the wild, tail between its legs. 

*******

Marya is laughing at a dry remark Vesemir makes about the author of the book they are pouring over when the library doors slam open and three panicked witchers race through. “Jaskier’s gone!” Geralt reports in a strangled voice. Her laughter dries up like desert sand and Marya feels her blood run cold at the pronouncement. 

Shooting up, Marya strides toward the witcher until they are a hands breadth apart. “What do you mean?” she hisses. 

The broken gaze looking down at her threatens to shatter the fury Marya wraps around herself like a shield. “He’s no where in the keep and-” here Geralt takes a breath and gulps. “And I think I know why.” 

*******

Marya curses every god she can think of as she races through the fierce storm that had begun not long after she arrived at the keep. When she ran out of gods she began cursing herself with every word she could think of. Marya knew that she should have told her pup about his true ancestry sooner but she was a bloody coward. And now he’s lost in a storm and the bloody wind keeps dispersing his scent. 

Pausing, Marya lifts her nose as the wind shifts directions again. Four horses rear up behind her. When she remarked on the fact that four witchers was overkill, she was met with four sets of stubborn gazes. “He’s pack,” Vesemir simply asserted, before swiftly mounting his horse. Marya had stood in shock as the other witchers followed suit before she shifted and ran out through the gates. Her boy has certainly done well for himself. And she’ll say as much and more as soon as she finds him and drags his scrawny arse back to the keep. Right after she explains herself too, Marya adds with a sigh. Pending he’ll listen and still want to talk to her. 

But first- 

There! Just as the winds shift again Marya catches a faint whiff of Julian's distinct scent: honey and pine. She releases a whimper when a smell of blood tickles her nose as well. With a howl Marya races toward her pup, praying that he’s alright. The blizzard had worsened in the half hour they have been searching so Marya nearly trips over the figure lying pinned in the snow a moment later. 

Skidding to a halt, Marya frantically sniffs the body and releases a low whine when she confirms it’s Julian. Nudging her pup, Marya licks his face, silently begging him to wake. She whimpers as she properly takes in the scene. A tree that must have been downed by the wind has him trapped. With the force of its fall, a branch managed to pierce Julian and blood is dripping sluggishly out of his side. He’s breathing shallowly, but still breathing, thank the gods.

Geralt kneels beside her, face shadowed. Pulling out a knife, he saws off the branch to separate it from the tree so only part of it remains inside the shifter. “We can’t remove that until we get him stable,” Geralt murmurs grimly. Working together, the rest of the witchers manage to haul the tree off of the injured wolf as Geralt braces him. Guess four people wasn’t overkill after all. 

With gentle hands known more for their violence than their tenderness, Geralt lifts Jaskier and places him on Roach, who nickers softly at the wolf. The witcher winces when Jaskier whimpers in pain from the movement and sags when Julian still remains unconscious. “Slow and steady girl,” Geralt says to her with a pat. Turning, he nods at Marya to take the lead. 

Even with their heightened senses, the witchers may get lost with the strength of the storm. They’re relying on her to get them back safely and Marya shudders under the weight of the responsibility. She sets a brisk pace, anxious to return to the keep so she can examine her pup and begin tending to his wounds. All worries about what comes after needed to be set aside. Once her boy was safe and well, Marya will face whatever fate awaits her. 

*******

“The good news is that if the branch hadn’t punctured him then he most likely would've been crushed and there would be no saving him,” Marya reports clinically as she binds Jaskier’s wounds. 

All four witchers are currently crowded in the infirmary as Marya tends to the shifter. Though she complained that it’s hard to concentrate when she has four wolves staring at her, no one indicated their plans to leave. Huffing a sigh, she had turned her back to them and since then has commented on and off as she tends to his wounds. 

Geralt is brimming with tension and the driving need to punch or stab something. But he can’t leave Jaskier’s side so instead he has been pacing in the cramped room, mind racing. If he hadn’t opened his damn mouth Jaskier wouldn’t have overheard him speak about what Marya is to him and then the idiot wouldn’t have gone wandering into the wilderness in the middle of a _bloody blizzard_ and gotten himself nearly killed. 

According to Marya he has a broken femur and a head injury on top of the puncture wound. She projects a full recovery but he’ll need to remain shifted in order to hasten the process and not rebreak the bone. But now Marya’s latest assessment is ringing in Geralt’s ears. _There would be no saving him_

Steady hands grasp his shoulders as Geralt turns to pace the length of the room once again. Geralt halts in surprise when he faces Lambert, looking more serious than he’s ever been. “Wanna go kick the crap outta each other?” Lambert asks without a hint of his usual humor. Looking at him critically, Geralt recognizes the storm of fear and anger and helplessness in his eyes. There’s nothing they can do here anyway. Nodding, Geralt shoots a final glance at Jaskier’s prone body before leading Lambert out the room.

But before they make it to the door Eskel blocks their way, arms crossed and lips pursed. “No,” he states simply. When Lambert and Geralt take a step towards him with matching growls, Eskel nods toward Jaskier, unmoved. “How will he feel when he wakes to find you two laid up right next to him because you’d rather beat the shit out of each other than cope with emotions like the rest of us mere mortals?” he asks sharply. The two witchers pause their posturing, frowning as they process Eskel’s words. 

Geralt grits his teeth as he forces himself to take steadying breaths and think rationally. He doesn’t like feeling helpless. He doesn’t like seeing the love of his fucking life unconscious in a bloody infirmary. He doesn’t like feeling afraid. Geralt determined long ago that fear is a useless emotion. Why feel fear when anger is so much easier and more productive? With anger you can _do_ something, even if all you do is destroy everyone and everything around you. Fear only traps you in your own mind and mocks your helplessness until you’re a trembling wreck. Geralt hasn’t felt fear like this for decades and he’s defenseless against its onslaught. 

Suddenly, a pair of solid arms wrap around Geralt, holding him together even as he feels likes shattering apart. Breathing in Eskel’s familiar scent of books and rain, Geralt sinks into his embrace. A moment later, another presence wraps around Geralt’s back. Lambert. The younger witcher’s spicier smell intermingles with Eskel’s, chasing away the bitter scent of fear permeating the room. 

All at once, the fight sucks out of him, and Geralt slumps in his brothers’ embrace. 

Together, they settle by the bed where Jaskier lays prone, the wolf’s rattling breaths reminding them that he lives, if just barely. While Vesemir and Marya murmur in the background, the three wolves curl up together, taking comfort in each other as they hold vigil over the bard they desperately cannot lose.


	3. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Shifting herself so they are eye to eye she says solemnly, “Keeping what I am from you was unforgivable. You deserved to know but I was too cowardly. I-” Marya interrupts herself and rakes a trembling hand through her loose bun. Clasping her hands, Marya looks down at them with a sigh. “We should have this conversation when you have the opportunity to yell at me,” she remarks with a brittle smile. Jaskier remains silent, not like he could actually respond if he wanted to. Honestly, he doesn’t know how he’ll react when they finally have a chance to talk. It depends on how justified the secrecy was, he supposes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this thing keeps getting longer. There _should_ only be one other chapter, unless my muse goes rogue again. It will be posted later tonight so stay tuned and thanks for reading!

_Everything hurt_ was Jaskier’s first groggy observation as he blinks his eyes open with a groan. His second observation is that he is currently surrounded by three witchers piled on the floor on one side of his bed. On the opposite Marya nods off on Vesemir’s shoulder while the older witcher’s head droops upon his chest. 

A surge of fondness and love for his pack surges through Jaskier. When he goes to remark on the tableau before him Jaskier realizes that he’s still shifted. But when he goes to turn back to human Jaskier yelps in pain. 

All at once he is surrounded by three _very_ handsy and worried looking witchers and Marya. Marya. Memories from earlier flood back. Not Marya. His mother. But that word doesn’t sit right on his tongue. Jaskier’s mother was a cold woman who was glad to be rid of him, blessing his future failures as a bard when he stormed out of their manor with no intention of looking back. 

Jaskier never understood why she hated him so. Now it all makes sense. When he was a child Marya explained that she was hired because she was a shifter too. He always assumed the hateful glares his mother sent her way was because of Marya's status as a shifter. Now he realizes how wrong he was. Jaskier’s mind is racing with questions as every childhood memory is rewritten. The need to shift back so he can ask them claws at him. 

Hands worn from years of labor gently press him back to bed. “You need to stay shifted pup,” Marya murmurs. “You’ll heal faster.” Jaskier whines in response. He has so many things to say and ask and now he can’t even speak. When Jaskier tries to raise his head again a wave of dizziness rushes through him. Oh-that wasn’t a good idea. 

“Rest little wolf,” Geralt rumbles from the other side of the bed, pressing a gentle kiss on his head. “We’ll be here when you wake.” Relaxing into the familiar touch of his mate, Jaskier blows out a sigh and begrudgingly allows the darkness to take him again. 

When he wakes again, sunlight streams through the high windows and only Vesemir and Marya remain, still pressed together. Curious. At Jaskier’s inquiring gaze around the otherwise empty room Vesemir chuckles quietly. “Your wolves were chomping at the bit. Finally had to give them orders so they wouldn’t vibrate out of their bodies with stress.” 

Jaskier releases a soft huff at the visual. Poor witchers. They’re men of action; sitting by a bedside waiting for someone to heal is the worst thing you could ask of them. Jaskier’s heart tugs when he recalls the scene that greeted him when he first woke up. But that’s exactly what they did, wasn’t it? Until Vesemir kicked them out for their own good that is. Saps, the lot of them. 

Marya approaches Jaskier and he watches her apprehensively. Her gaze is the most guarded Jaskier has ever seen it as she settles beside him. “Your mate guessed that you ran because you overheard what he said to his brothers,” she began, fidgeting with Jaskier’s bandages. At Jaskier’s small nod in assent, Marya releases a weary sigh and pauses her ministrations. 

Shifting herself so they are eye to eye she says solemnly, “Keeping what I am from you was unforgivable. You deserved to know but I was too cowardly. I-” Marya interrupts herself and rakes a trembling hand through her loose bun. Clasping her hands, Marya looks down at them with a sigh. “We should have this conversation when you have the opportunity to yell at me,” she remarks with a brittle smile. Jaskier remains silent, not like he could actually respond if he wanted to. Honestly, he doesn’t know how he’ll react when they finally have a chance to talk. It depends on how justified the secrecy was, he supposes.

Turning back to Jaskier’s wounds, Marya whispers, “No matter how you feel about me, whether you want to fight me or never see me again, just know that my love for you was never false.” Finishing adjusting his splint Marya looks down at Jaskier, eyes bright from unshed tears. “I will always love you my little bird,” she says with a shaky smile. 

And with a sigh, Marya sweeps out of the room, leaving Jaskier to mull over her words. Jaskier is somewhat relieved that they are holding off the conversation, as much as he is itching for answers. Though they can communicate as wolves, talking as humans, especially when handling abstract concepts, is far easier. Jaskier growls with frustration. He just wants to heal already so they can talk.

After a beat, Vesemir approaches Jaskier’s bed, running a weathered hand through his coat. “She meant well pup,” Vesemir says gruffly. “Be angry, be upset, but give her a chance to explain.” At Jaskier’s hesitant nod, Vesemir releases a satisfied grunt. “I’ll go get your wolves; I’m sure they are just about at each other’s throats by now.” 

Jaskier sneezes with amusement as, a moment later, three overgrown children fight to enter the room and make it to Jaskier’s side first. Geralt tackles Lambert to prevent him from taking the lead, ultimately assuring Eskel the win. The scarred witcher kneels in front of Jaskier’s head and runs a hand gently through his fur, huffing out a laugh as the shifter licks across his face. 

A moment later Lambert and Geralt join Eskel’s side, out of breath and still jostling each other irritably. When Jaskier growls lowly Geralt and Lambert freeze, turning as meek and sheepish as the troublesome pups they are. Humming in satisfaction, Jaskier licks them as well, cracking a lupine grin at Lambert’s look of disgust and Geralt’s soft smile. “You scared us little wolf,” Geralt murmurs, pressing his head to Jaskier’s. Jaskier releases a low apologetic whine. He realizes now how foolhardy his stunt was; he just hadn’t been thinking. 

The shifter longs to curl up with his wolves as they are wont to do but his aching body protests. Right. Time to improvise. Whining, Jaskier nods his head toward the bed, urging the witchers to join him. Geralt’s smile morphs into a frown. “You’re injured Jaskier; we won’t risk exacerbating your wounds.” 

When Jaskier growls fiercely in response, Lambert barks a laugh. “Your wish is our command, my liege,” he proclaims exaggeratedly, mounting the bed slowly so as not to jostle the shifter. At Geralt’s ensuing growl, Lambert rolls his eyes. Leaning back on an elbow, Lambert begins running a hand down Jaskier’s uninjured side. Jaskier releases a happy sigh and wags his tail lazily. A moment later a weight lands on the other side of the bed and a new hand rubs down Jaskier’s back. The shifter is slowly melting into a puddle of bliss but there’s only one missing link. 

Cracking open an imperious eye, Jaskier huffs impatiently at Geralt. After another conflicted glance across Jaskier’s injured body, Geralt releases a sigh and climbs onto the bed. Inwardly Jaskier crows with success. His witcher can’t deny his requests, not even as a wolf. Lifting Jaskier’s head gently, Geralt places him back down on his lap and begins scratching down Jaskier’s neck and behind his ears in all of the best spots. With the final slot in place, Jaskier allows himself to breathe in the calming scents of his wolves, and with a final contented sigh, he slips off to sleep. 

*******

“You know, I have some experience with making mistakes with my pups,” Vesemir rumbles as he lumbers into the library. Marya is staring morosely out of a window, open book forgotten in her lap. 

“Oh?” she hums vaguely. Nodding, Vesemir settles into a chair opposite her with a sigh.

“I did happen to be an instructor here when it was a full fledged school,” Vesemir explains with a general wave. Expression darkening, the nightmarish images of the trials play behind his eyes. “I trained many a boy, knowing I prepared them for death or worse,” he rasps gruffly. Clearing his throat, Vesemir adjusts himself until he is seated more comfortably, pleading the skeletons of his past to crawl back from whence they came. This was foolish. Why is he dredging up these memories? He has tried for so long to erase them from his mind, not like he has ever been successful. But bringing them up deliberately isn’t helping Vesemir’s sanity any. 

Glancing up at Marya though, blue eyes haunted with guilt, Vesemir knows it’s worth sharing his pain it if it will help her own. Gods, he’s known this woman for just about a week and yet he is certain she is the most remarkable creature he has encountered. Her competence with bandages and salve are matched by her skill with a blade, something Vesemir tested after the second day Jaskier remained unconscious when he was itching for a fight himself. Vesemir has never felt like he did that day when Marya managed to nick him with the sword he threw at her. 

Over the past few days, they have gotten to know each other more as they waited for Jaskier to heal. Her wit simmers at the surface, ready to crack at a moment’s notice, even as the future conversation with Jaskier looms before her. And before the pup pulled that foolish stunt Vesemir had learned she could talk books better than Eskel and Jaskier combined, which was saying something. 

Now Vesemir stares at her, desperate to wipe the somber expression off her face and feeling the inexplicable urge to request she remain here for the rest of the winter. He just doesn’t know what this feeling is. Fondness? Vesemir supposes that’s the word for it. He has never warmed up to someone so quickly, not even the bard. 

Vesemir barely disguises his flinch as a cough when he realizes that Marya has scooted her chair closer to him so she can clasp her hand in his. “Thank you Vesemir,” she says warmly, blue eyes boring into him. 

Vesemir gulps, feeling grateful that his mutagens prevent him from blushing like an awkward schoolboy. Nodding gruffly, Vesemir clears his throat and shrugs. Smooth. Gesturing to the book still in her lap Vesemir asks desperately, “Enjoying it so far?” 

Huffing out a laugh, Marya responds with a glint in her eye, “Wouldn’t know. Something more interesting came along before I could find out.” Vesemir furrows his brow and glances out the window she had been staring at when he arrived. It’s hard to see anything from this angle but he wonders what she spotted that caught her interest. 

Vesemir frowns at the strange feeling in his chest at the idea of something else capturing Marya’s eye. He has the sudden urge to find out what it is so Vesemir can listen to her talk about it. Vesemir usually tunes out people like the bardling who enjoy the sound of their own voice a bit too much. But-Vesemir doesn’t know-it’s just...Marya’s voice is nice, he supposes. 

*******

Geralt feels eternally grateful for Jaskier’s rapid healing, not just because it gives him better odds to live, but also because the bard was becoming _incorrigible._ “Stop wiggling or I’ll pin you to this bed,” Geralt grits through his teeth as Marya attempts to check Jaskier’s bandages for the third time in the span of 5 minutes. 

The spark of mischief in Jaskier’s eyes tells Geralt that was the wrong thing to say. “Need us to give you two some privacy?” Lambert calls from where he leans against a wall, releasing a gust of breath when Eskel elbows him in the gut in response. Geralt hangs his head with a heavy sigh; he really didn’t need the reminder of how long it’s been since he’s been able to, ahem, butter his biscuit. 

“I need you to shut your face before I shut it for you,” Geralt growls, leaning more of his weight onto the squirming wolf under him. 

“You say the sweetest things,” Lambert croons. 

As Vesemir walks past him he slaps the youngest witcher upside the head. “If you have no contribution you can get to mucking the stables,” he snaps. That seems to shut him up, thank the gods. 

“Settle down you damned pup,” Marya finally barks. With a whine Jaskier deflates, ears peeling back as he peers at the severe woman looming above him. Sighing, Marya mops her forehead with a sleeve. “We know you’re impatient to shift boy, I just need to check that you’re fully healed,” she explains more patiently. 

With a heavy sigh Jaskier rests his head on his paws, staying utterly still as the other shifter pokes and prods his wounds. After several minutes where Jaskier remained absolutely still (Geralt is going to reward him _so much_ later,) Marya nods with satisfaction. “You’re healed,” she announces. 

In a blink of an eye the giant wolf is replaced with a very naked bard. While Vesemir and Eskel avert their eyes, Lambert leers at the sight and Geralt releases a tired sigh before removing his tunic to cover the shifter in what is becoming a concerning routine. Marya simply rolls her eyes before brushing a hand through the tousled hair so similar to her own. “It’s good to see you again Julian,” she murmurs, expression shuttering closed. 

Glancing around the room Jaskier croaks, voice worn from underuse, “Thank you all for taking such good care of me but can you give us some privacy?” Without a word the witchers file out, Geralt hesitating at the door to catch his mate's encouraging nod before following the others. There will be more time to be reacquainted with his little wolf later. He needs to do this on his own. 

*******

For a long moment they sit staring at each other, Jaskier with his arms wrapped around himself and Marya with her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Explain,” Julian finally asks softly. “Please,” he adds in a whisper. Marya reaches a hand out as though to run her hand through his hair like she has done countless times before, but then decides against it. 

Fist clenching, she begins the tale she told Geralt over a year ago. About how his parents needed an heir, how she offered herself to work for his parents when she realized he’d be a shifter, how she was sworn to secrecy as to her true identity. Julian listens to it all, lips pursed and eyes studying the coarse sheets between his toes. 

When Marya finishes, Julian glances up to confirm she is done before shaking his head. “That doesn’t make sense,” he says slowly. As Julian raises his head again to meet her eyes, Marya is relieved not to see hatred but only burning curiosity. “When I left home and you followed, you could have told me. My parents wouldn’t have cared, they’ve practically disowned me.” 

Oh, how Marya’s heart breaks out how flippant her pup tries sounding despite how his voice breaks. Unable to stop herself, she reaches a hand to grip his own tightly. Studying it Marya asks steadily, “Do you remember the first thing you said to me when you visited during University?” Furrowing his brow, Julian tries to recall that time so long ago. Unable to parse through the haze of booze and sex, he shakes his head with a frown. 

Running her thumb along his knuckles Marya says softly, “You told me, ‘Marya, now that you don’t work for my parents you’re the only one I don’t have to pay to like me. You just followed me because you wanted to.’ Then you looked at me with the saddest eyes I had seen in all of my years and added, ‘You like me just ‘cause I’m me, not because I am anything to you or do anything for you.’” 

Shrugging helplessly Marya continues speaking, cursing herself as her voice cracks and a tear slips down a cheek. “I was planning on telling you that day but I feared if I did you would walk away, assuming I _forced_ myself to like you out of obligation or thinking I would be just like your horrid mother. I wanted you to know that you didn't need to earn my affection. That I loved you simply because I could.” 

Marya jolts as a calloused finger wipes the tears now falling swiftly down her face. Looking up at her son’s face Marya whispers, “I didn’t want to lose you Buttercup.” At his childhood nickname Julian’s composure breaks and he throws himself at Marya. Gathering him up in her arms, Marya greedily scents him as her pup does the same, tears wetting their backs. 

“You’ve always been my mother,” Julian whispers fiercely. And just like that, all the years of secrecy and pain fall away. For the first time in decades Marya finally feels truly free. Oh, she could howl at the moon with delight. 

*******

Later that night the four witchers are interrupted from their games of Gwent at twin howls into the night sky. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert jump to their feet, grabbing weapons to ready for a fight; that was a battle-cry if ever they heard one. Without looking up from his deck Vesemir places a staying hand on Geralt. “Sit your arses down," Vesemir rumbles, a soft smile twitching at his lips. “That’s a howl of freedom pups.”


	4. I Can't Look Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Something was up with Vesemir and Marya and Jaskier was on the case. They were getting too… _something..._ Jaskier doesn’t know. But he feels like they are attached at the hip at every corner Jaskier turns. And it’s just-great, Jaskier is so glad that they’re getting along but-but-ugh! Jaskier doesn’t know. It's just _gross_ is the thing. And this is the last straw. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have given kudos/commented on the previous chapters. And thank you FantasyBoudicca for the idea for the delightful dialogue exchange between Marya and Jaskier. I hope you enjoy!

Something was up with Vesemir and Marya and Jaskier was on the case. They were getting too… _something..._ Jaskier doesn’t know. But he feels like they are attached at the hip at every corner Jaskier turns. And it’s just-great, Jaskier is so glad that they’re getting along but-but-ugh! Jaskier doesn’t know. It's just _gross_ is the thing. And this is the last straw. 

Jaskier comes tearing into his and Geralt’s room where the witcher is lounging on the bed with a book. “Geralt, our parents are currently curled on the rug making _goo goo eyes_ at each other!” Jaskier exclaims hysterically. “Hmm,” Geralt says with a frown. He didn’t know Vesemir could make an expression other than stern, disappointed, or fondly exasperated.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats, clamoring over him and shaking his shoulders. 

Flicking his eyes up to look at the shifter’s panicked expression Geralt raises a brow. “Hmm?” Releasing an exasperated sigh Jaskier collapses on top of Geralt, crushing the witcher’s hand where it still held his book. “This can’t be a comfortable position for you,” Geralt remarks through a mouthful of hair.

“What do I care about comfort?” Jaskier moans. “I feel like my eyes are _bleeding_ from what I just witnessed." 

“Please, tell me your woes,” Geralt deadpans as he subtly tries to retrieve his hand so he can return to his book. 

Flopping onto his back so he can stare morosely at the ceiling and prevent the witcher from rescuing his hand, Jaskier sighs exaggeratedly. “I don’t know where to begin Geralt,” he cries, throwing his arms into the air. “I was only out of the loop for a fortnight, how can so much change in that time?” 

Losing patience, Geralt flips Jaskier over with his free hand so the bard faceplants onto the bed. “It’s a real puzzle,” Geralt hums, shaking the life back into his other hand and smoothing out the creased pages of the book with a sigh. Eskel is gonna kill him. 

Scowling as the shifter pops his head in front of the book again Geralt releases an irritated huff. “You know it’s moments like these when I just don’t feel supported in our relationship,” Jaskier sniffs. “I need to know that you will lift me up when I feel down. That you will hold me close when I feel I shall collapse. That you will carry me when I-you know this could make a good ballad.” And with that, Jaskier hops off of the bed and rifles through his packs for his notebook and quill. 

Geralt lets out a relieved sigh as the frantic scratch of a quill sounds through the room. Finally. Blessed silence. 

“GERALT! Vesemir and Marya are giving each other lovey dovey looks in the dining hall and it’s DISGUSTING!” Lambert exclaims, slamming open the door. Thudding his head against the wall, Geralt closes his eyes. He should’ve known better than to have thought he could actually read in peace. He lives with wolves, afterall. 

*******

“-And then he actually tripped over his feet and stuttered, ‘thank you,’” Lambert cackles. Slipping into the spring, Jaskier slides over to where the youngest witcher is, carrying his soaps. 

“Who is this?” Jaskier asks as he manhandles Lambert into the corner. 

Smiling softly as the witcher allows himself to be moved and relaxes against him, Jaskier slowly begins to work up a lather. “Vesemir,” Lambert says with a satisfied hum, leaning his head back into the bard’s touch. Jaskier’s heart lurches at the show of trust as the younger wolf bares his throat so easily. It took all of last winter for Lambert to feel comfortable enough to have his back to Jaskier, let alone show him his throat and close his eyes. 

“When did he do this?” Jaskier laughs. “When he met his first crush as a boy?” Turning to look at Jaskier with a roguish grin Lambert says gleefully, “Nope. It happened about an hour ago when Marya complimented the shine of his hair.” 

Suddenly Jaskier is choking on air and is waving away the concerned hands of his mate. Gasping for breath, Jaskier shoves the laughing witcher away from him in outrage. “You-he-I-”

“Take it slow little wolf,” Eskel murmurs with a smirk from where he's leaned opposite the bard. 

Releasing a broken whine Jaskier moans, “I’m too young to be scarred for life.”

“I dunno, ‘s kinda sweet,” Lambert declares, throwing his arm around the shifter with a grin. “Old man deserves some love in his life; might help him loosen up.” Nudging Jaskier affectionately, the witcher smiles at him hopefully. Sighing, Jaskier rolls his eyes with a huff. He can’t be irritated at the wolf, even if he knew exactly what he was doing to Jaskier. 

Rearranging them back to their former positions, Jaskier returns to massaging Lambert’s scalp, smirking as the witcher melts back into his touch. Jaskier may be having an absolute crisis of the parentage sort but this is something Jaskier can still depend on giving him some solace: turning his wolves into utter mush. 

*******

Geralt walks into their room stiffly, eyes distant and haunted. Sitting up from where he was tuning the lute, Jaskier hurries over to his mate. “What’s wrong?” he frets, cradling the witcher’s face to get a better look at him. 

Staring back at Jaskier, Geralt blinks slowly as if coming out of a haze. Wetting his lips the witcher croaks, “I just saw Marya braiding Vesemir’s hair.” Gripping Jaskier’s shoulders, Geralt leans closer, eyes taking on a manic light. “And he was _laughing.”_

Frowning, Jaskier cocks his head. “So? You let me braid your hair,” he points out. “And I’ve heard him laugh before.” Dropping Jaskier’s shoulders as suddenly as he grabbed them, Geralt shuffles towards their bed before collapsing face first. Puzzled, Jaskier follows the witcher and leans down so he can hear what the witcher whines into a pillow. 

“You braid my hair but Vesemir is essentially my _dad._ Imagine your dad getting his hair braided.” Jaskier shudders, repulsed by the thought. Turning to look morosely up at the bard through his disheveled hair Geralt whimpers, “And you haven’t heard him laugh like this. It was almost like a _giggle.”_

Settling down on the bed Jaskier pats the witcher’s head. “There there darling, it will be alright,” he says vaguely, biting his lips to keep from laughing at the broken moan he receives in response. 

*******

Jaskier is workshopping a tune in his head as he cards his fingers gently through Eskel’s hair when Lambert comes racing into the room, eyes wide like a platoon of Nilfgaardian soldiers are on his heels. “Whatever you do, don’t go into the library,” Lambert states with forced calm. 

Quirking a brow, Jaskier opens his mouth to ask why when Geralt stumbles into the room and promptly curls into a corner with a whine. Pointing a finger emphatically at Jaskier Lambert states ominously, “Don’t. Ask.” Shrugging, Jaskier returns his attention to the witcher lying contentedly in his lap. If Lambert doesn’t want to talk about it then it _must_ have been bad. 

*******

Marya storms into the library, eyes ablaze like she found out Jaskier nicked her best knife again. “How did you stand it?” she hisses, reaching her hands up as if to tear out her hair. 

Strumming a discordant note on his lute Jaskier swallows nervously. “Um-I don’t know?” he offers. Collapsing into a chair, Marya stares moodily out a window. Wow, she could give Geralt a run for his money on his most broody days. “I have pulled out every trick I have acquired in my _very_ long life and nothing gets through to him,” she hisses. “He’s the densest man alive.” 

Suddenly, Jaskier has complete clarity on the topic of their conversation. Tapping his chin Jaskier muses, “I often remarked on the fact that Geralt was denser than a pair of lead weights.” 

Nodding miserably Marya mutters, “Could sink straight down to the bottom of a lake.” Seeing Marya look so glum puts Jaskier’s horror-filled days into perspective. Sure, he will most likely have nightmares if he catches his adoptive father curled in Marya’s lap again but the two old wolves deserve some love. Besides, Marya had been tip toeing around Jaskier, still feeling guilty over the secret she held from his for so long. Maybe helping her with this will prove to Marya that all is forgiven.

Taking a resolute breath, Jaskier juts his chin out stubbornly. “I’ll help you Marya.” 

Turning her sharpened gaze toward Jaskier, Marya studies him. “Why?” she asks suspiciously. 

Smiling wickedly he explains, “You’re the reason I got my wolf. Only stands to reason I help you get yours.” 

*******

When Vesemir walks into the dining hall he frowns. No one is there but Marya, hand propped onto a basket. Searching for an ambush and finding none, he walks further into the hall. “Where are the pups?” he asks. 

Shrugging, Marya tosses her hair. “Said something about wanting to be away from the old people for a night,” she scoffs. 

Growling, Vesemir spins on his heel and begins stalking away to find his boys. “Who called you old?” he demands, plotting the various chores he could assign them. Probably Lambert, the troublesome pup. 

Vesemir freezes when a surprisingly strong hand stops him. Turning, Vesemir finds his mouth dry up as he gazes into the twinkling blue eyes of the creature before him. “In their defense, I do have a couple centuries under my belt,” she remarks wryly. 

Huffing, Vesemir searches for a witty response just to find his usually sharp mind failing. “Don’t look a day over 30 to me,” he offers lamely. Oh gods that shitty compliment is not worthy of the bright smile Vesemir receives in response. 

Nodding her head to the basket Marya says, “I thought with the thaw coming we could eat outside. Enjoy the moonlight.” Vesemir swallows, palms suddenly growing sweaty. Outside? Alone? With nothing but the stars and moon watching? Oh gods. 

Vesemir isn’t a fool. It only took him about a month to realize that what he assumed was fondness is a far stronger emotion. He just has no clue how Marya feels, whether she spends time with him out of boredom, pity, or some other unknown reason. But a midnight picnic sounds...gods it sounds straight out of those flimsy romances Vesemir secretly read when he was a lad. 

Nodding silently, Vesemir watches as Marya grabs the basket and blanket. Gathering his courage, he hooks his arm through the shifter’s, relaxing minutely when Marya shoots him a cheerful grin in response. 

As they walk outside, Vesemir frowns. He hadn’t realized how warm it had gotten; soon his boys will have to return to the Path and he will have to wait another year wondering if they will all come back to him in one piece. Shaking his head, Vesemir clears his mind of such thoughts. Right now he has a beautiful, bright, and powerful woman on his arms. She deserves a night to remember. 

Once they get to a good clearing, Vesemir carefully lays out the blanket as Marya unpacks the basket. His jaw drops as he takes in what she’s brought. Venison and bread with a vegetable broth. All of his favorites. She must have been cooking all day. Catching his gaze Marya blushes. “I went hunting this morning,” she explains. “Wanted to treat you as a thank you and as-” but she cuts herself off, biting her lips in uncharacteristic self-consciousness. 

Vesemir’s mind is working slowly, still processing the fact that she hunted and cooked all day for him. But as he catches up to where Marya left off, Vesemir glances at her curiously. “And what?” he prompts. They are kneeled facing each other and Vesemir notes distantly that he would only need to lean forward slightly to claim those painted lips. 

Fidgeting with her hands, Marya breathes out slowly as she looks out into the wilderness. Gesturing out to their surroundings she starts speaking. “This-this is all I’ve ever had,” she begins. “I’ve been alone most of my life, never had a pack.” Shrugging, Marya sighs, “I’ve had fleeting romances but those can never last when one lives as long as I.” Vesemir is listening, rapt to her every word and trying to follow what she's trying to get him to understand. His breath catches as those fathomless eyes are turned back toward him. “I’ve enjoyed your company Vesemir,” she murmurs. “And I am loathe to part with it.” 

Panic gripping him, Vesemir scrambles for the words. “Then don’t,” he blurts out, immediately cursing how desperate he sounds. Gathering himself, Vesemir takes a steady breath. Mirroring Marya’s earlier gesture Vesemir sweeps a hand toward the keep. “It is quiet during the year. I-I have grown used to your presence.” 

Smiling softly, Marya scoots forward until they are nearly sharing each other’s air. Vesemir fears he will drown in her scent, sweet as lilacs and honey. “Vesemir,” Marya calls softly. 

“Hmm?” 

“Would you like to kiss me?” Jolting out of his reverie, Vesemir stares with wide eyes at the shifter, licking his suddenly dry lips. 

“Would-I mean-is that-would you like me to?” he stumbles to say. 

“I asked you first,” she laughs. 

Pushing himself backwards so he can think with a clear head, Vesemir gulps. “I-I truly value your companionship and will be more than content with-” 

“Oh for Melitele’s sake,” Marya groans, grabbing the collar of Vesemir’s cloak and tugging him to her. Flailing his arms, Vesemir blindly finds a grip around Marya’s back as he falls into the kiss. Gods above is it good. 

Soon the food is forgotten. Neither of them really mind. 

*******

Jaskier and Geralt are curled up in bed when Lambert and Eskel come dragging their feet through the door, looking haunted. Wordlessly, the two witchers pile into the bed and cuddle up to Geralt and Jaskier. “We’re never using the hot springs again,” Eskel states distantly. Jaskier and Geralt’s eyes widen at the implication of Eskel’s horrified whisper. Oh gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! If you enjoyed and/or have requests for what to see in this series next, let me know!


End file.
